


Target Practice

by caliecat



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Comment Fic, F/M, Gen, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-11
Updated: 2011-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:53:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caliecat/pseuds/caliecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve takes Jenna to the firing range.</p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/222120">Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium...</a> by imaginarycircus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Target Practice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imaginarycircus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginarycircus/gifts).



After two wine-infused phone sessions with her old roommate back in DC and a full day spent practicing her relaxation exercises, Jenna finally works up the nerve to ask Steve for a lesson on the firing range. It doesn't take any effort at all, only a casual question to persuade Steve to show her his tricks, and the next thing she knows she's sighting down a target with Steve standing behind her, the heat from his body radiating through the thin shirt she's wearing as though she's naked.

She shakes off that thought, takes aim and squeezes the trigger like Kono taught her. Her first shot goes wild, not surprising given how hard her hands are shaking.

He leans forward so she can hear him, his chest brushing her shoulder. "Didn't Kono teach you anything?" he breathes into her ear, and she can't suppress the shiver that runs up her spine at the deep warmth of his voice.

He's right there. If she turned her head a fraction, her face would be—no. She locks her eyes on the target.

"She...sure, um, yes, she told me, I mean she showed me how to shoot, we practiced but you know, I'm, I'm just—"

"Never mind. Here, let's try this."

He grabs her shoulders, shifts her position until she's square to the target and wraps his large hands around hers on the gun. "You were pulling to the right. Start with your hands here, good, now let's see if that's better."

The feeling of him manhandling her is thrilling. Her heart is pounding, she feels dizzy and she wonders if she might throw up. But she'd never be able to hold her head up after that. So she swallows hard and resists the urge to lean back and just let go. Instead, she focuses ahead, imagining she's looking at a real terrorist instead of a cartoon outline, but it's impossible to ignore the arms enfolding her, the strong hands on hers....

"Jenna? Something wrong?"

"No. No, no no no. Okay, good, yes, good, let's do this." Her next shot nicks the outer edge of the paper. At least that's an improvement.

"Better, but your balance is still off," he says. He steps even closer and kicks her feet apart until she's standing in a V with her legs spread wide past her hips. Her legs. Open wide. With him so close behind her she can smell him. Oh God. Why didn't she listen to Kono, why why—

"Try again," he murmurs. She bites her lip and thinks about the car fire she passed on the way here. A column of thick black smoke, good, smells like tar and petroleum, very good, sirens and police everywhere, danger, and maybe there's a bad guy shooting at her, she has to get him first....

This shot hits the target's arm.

"Nice!" Steve says, sounding pleased and proud. "You've got it now. A little more practice and you'll be shooting like a pro."

And as much as she wants him, as much as she wants to toss down the gun, turn into his arms and just go for it, she realizes she craves his respect even more. So she buckles down, using all the mental tricks that got her through Harvard and Langley, and soon their training session is over.

"Next week, we'll try this again?" he says as they walk side-by-side to their cars.

"Okay, sure, and thanks, this was good, I appreciate it, really, I mean I learned a lot and I appreciate you taking the time and—"

"Jenna." He puts a hand on her arm to stop her and looks at her, really looks at her, until she feels absolutely naked under his gaze. "You did fine. Don't worry about it. Go home and relax."

She grins back, not trusting herself to speak, not even caring if she looks like an idiot. He gives her a final pat and then he's gone and she can breathe again.

That night in bed, with the memory of his hands on hers, his breath tickling her ear, the strength in his arms as he held her, the feel of his hard, broad chest against her back, his perfect, beautiful face, she does manage to relax.

Several times, in fact. It's a good night.


End file.
